


Skirmish

by nightcourthighlordrhysand



Series: Nessian [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, LOTR mentions, but nothing extensive, hehe, just what the summary indicates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcourthighlordrhysand/pseuds/nightcourthighlordrhysand
Summary: Prompt: Neighbour who’s way too enthuisiastic about LOTR soundtracks





	Skirmish

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think :)

Flexing her fingers inside her slightly holey mittens, Nesta bit back a moan as warmth speared through her extremities, nose tingling with the sudden warmth of her cozy apartment.  She sighed, dropping her carefully organized oversized purse to the side, tabbed binders peeking out of the unzipped center. 

Leaning against the wall, Nesta loosened the scarf closely wound around her neck in an effort to avoid the plague like flu that seemed to seize her body every winter, and bent forward to begin the arduous task of unlacing her wool lined boots.

Nesta frowned at the small puddle of slush she’d managed to track in despite the trek from the lobby of her building to her apartment on the seventh floor, trudging toward her small but meticulously clean kitchenette where she expertly tugged a few lengths of paper towel off the roller over the sink to tidy up her mess.

Content with the now tidied space, she carefully hung her coat and scarf on their designated hooks, placing her boots against the wall to dry.

Once she’d slid her sack bag into its slot near her desk, she plugged in her phone to charge and proceeded toward the bathroom, unbuttoning her crisp white shirt with deft fingers as she went.

The shower turned on with a squeal as she twisted the taps, steam filling the cramped room.  After she stripped down, Nesta released her hair from the neat twist at the back of her head, tired locks cascading around her shoulders as she stepped into the comforting warmth of the downpour.  Slowly, her body relaxed, the tension easing out of her shoulders, worming down her arms and floating away on the puffs of steam that slipped around the shower curtain.

Soapy water slid down the drain in endless spirals, unseen Nesta’s gently closed eyes, lips parted in relaxation - until her jaw clenched as that _thing_ that _sound_ started _again_.  _Damn them_.

Letting out a low growl, Nesta angrily twisted the shower handles until the glorious pressure reduced to a trickle, and then nothing, her naked body pink with the heat.  Angrily toweling off, the sound assaulted her ears with more clarity than it had when muffled by the steady hum of running water.

Nesta squeezed the excess water from her hair, sticking it up hastily in an ancient claw clip that had seen better days, the few teeth missing allowing damp tendrils to escape randomly, making a rather attractive appearance for the frustrated and oblivious woman.

Still slightly clammy, she stormed to her chest of drawers, violently tugging out an oversized sweater that was just big enough to miss the mark on ‘oversized but attractive.’  As she pulled her worn sweatpants over her slim hips, Nesta shoved the drawer closed, pulling down the hem of her sweater with a white-knuckled grip.

She stepped into her running sneakers, threw back her shoulders, and left her apartment in a huff, turning sharply and knocking on apartment 708′s closed door before her righteous anger dissipated.

After slamming her fist on the door three times in quick succession, she paused, waiting for footsteps or some indication that the highly insensitive inhabitant had heard her. Not damn likely given the ungodly loud volume of the lyric-less music that poured through the thin walls like a tidal wave of nerdy oppression.

She’d identified the music almost immediately when the torture had started nearly two weeks ago, the night after the jerk had moved in if the echoing laughter of his friends shoving boxes and furniture was any indication. After the rabble had departed en masse, it had started, and Nesta recognized it with a shudder.

That’s not to say she’s not a fan of Tolkien or Lord of the Rings. In _fact_ , many would be surprised just how much no-nonsense Nesta Archeron loved the fantasy author, and that trilogy in particular. No. It was anything associated with that farce of a movie adaptation she’d anticipated with the highest hopes. She’d watched the earliest trailers with a sort of morbid curiosity, but as she really considered the casting and realized they were being shot all at once, and the run time was more than the standard two hour mark, she’d dared to hope, a mistake she regretted about halfway through the first film.

And so, she’d completely distanced herself from _anything_ involving the blockbuster film trilogy and immersed herself in the familiar pages of her Tolkien books, silently – and sometimes not so silently depending on how many drinks she’d had – detesting and judging anyone who disagreed with her absolute boycott.

Which is why when the music remained at an earsplitting decibel and the offending party did not answer the door, Nesta banged on the yellowy wood once again, the cheap brushed silver doorknocker jangling with the force of her blows.

Finally, the volume lowered to a level that wouldn’t be picked up by the Mars rover and heavy footsteps lumbered toward the door. _I pity your downstairs neighbor._

Hearing the locks disengage, the door cracked open enough to reveal half of what Nesta grudgingly admitted in the private of her mind was an unreasonably attractive face. Dark eyebrows rose in question as his hazel eyes swept over her form in an appraising but shockingly un-objectifying way, as if he was assessing an opponent rather than rating her on a hotness scale.

If she wasn’t riding on the wave of her righteous indignance, Nesta might have felt some discomfort at the fact that she was meeting this tall dark and handsome stranger while wearing her frumpiest outfit, but even as her mind began to falter, he smirked crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorjamb, still half hidden by the partially opened door, “Can I help you?”

“You can help by not being a selfish unaware dick,” Nesta practically growled hands rising to her hips as she subconsciously struck a power pose.

The unnamed stranger shook his shoulder length hair back, lips twitching in mirth, “Nice to meet you too…?”

He broke off waiting for her name, obviously undeterred by her distaste for him and enjoying the prospect of a battle of wits. _One I’m sure to win if it’s against this Fabio wannabe._

“Just. Stop.”

The music switched to the next track as they had their own quiet standoff. He looked like the type that would’ve fit in at high noon shoot-outs, and while Nesta didn’t look the part, but she made up for it in somewhat over the top anger at things on her ‘list’. And so far, he had hit four out of her top twenty-five reasons to wish someone would drop off the face of the earth – insensitive neighbors, fan of LOTR movies in any fashion, repetitive music choices, and smirking in a way that made her wish she could pin him and his beautifully muscled body to the floor as she… _anyway, that was a recent addition._

“What exactly am I supposed to ‘stop’? You’re the one who is disturbing the peace by banging on doors and shouting in the hallway.”

“I didn’t shout.” She pouted only slightly, arms folding across her chest.

The stranger straightened, mouth opening and closing with a snap before he closed the door in her face.   Just as she was ready to let out an almighty screech that woke the entire block, she heard the chain slide from its place and the door opened widely, revealing a mostly set up apartment, littered with a few sealed boxes labeled ‘Misc’ and ‘Cassian’s Dumb Nerd Shit.’

 _Cassian_.

He, Cassian apparently, stepped back and gestured for her to enter, “How about we continue whatever this conversation is inside. Before Mrs. Beatty across the hall decides _listening at the door isn’t enough for her and her busybody sister_.”

Cassian said the last of that sentence rather loudly, followed by a muffled ‘Well I _never_ ,’ and the dull scrape of a chair against parquet flooring. He quirked his brow again in silent invitation and Nesta moved to step forward, before pausing, “If you try anything I’m trained in Krav Maga and wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck.”

Despite her intent, this threat seemed to have no effect aside from a warm glint in his eye she couldn’t decipher as he drawled, “Lovely.”

Quietly, she surveyed the apartment, mirror image of her own, assessing his level of cleanliness and the sparse but rather stylish décor. Her fingers ran over the shiny black frame surrounding an abstract modern art piece made up of splashes of primary colors, bright against the backdrop of his fairly neutral colored apartment.

Freshly washed dishes dripped dry in a metal rack to the left of his sink. The coffee maker slowly filling with aromatic dark liquid, a single white china mug waiting empty in front of the machine, “Coffee?”

She hesitated, before nodding, “Sure. Thanks.”

He pulled the twin of his mug down from the surprisingly organized cabinet, “Milk? Sugar?”

“Just a splash.”

Wordlessly, he reaches the refrigerator in two strides, bending over to reach the milk, affording her with an unencumbered view of his tight rear.

Nesta clears her throat, casting around for something to take her mind off of the idea of holding those glorious – ahem, “So what’re all those books for?”

Cassian slides the milk onto the counter and glances in the direction of her gaze, “Oh. Research.”

“ _For_?”

Pouring two generous mugs, he gestures for her to fix hers to her liking, “My dissertation. I’m working on my doctorate.”

Eying a couple of the visible covers, she frowns in thought, “Movies?”

They take sips of their warm drinks, the heat worming its way down Nesta’s chest in the best way as Cassian answers, “Movie _soundtracks_. I’m a uh- a composer.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but really everything begins to come together as she gathers this last bit of information, “So the Lord of the Rings music marathon?”

Cassian smiles self-consciously, the first real crack in his almost pompous confidence, “One of my case studies. I’m guessing that’s the reason for the unexpected visit?”

Until that point, she’d nearly forgotten the purpose of her visit, mind focused on the sinews of her new neighbor’s muscled form and not reaching out to _feel_ said sinews.

“Yes. It’s been two weeks. And it’s very loud.”

Nesta’s lips purse as she awaits a satisfactory explanation. Her companion sips his coffee calmly, “You have to _listen_ to music when you’re writing about it. And Lord of the Rings is one of my film case studies.”

“And the volume?”

“I like it loud,” Cassian shrugs, smirk indicating his intentional double meaning.

Rolling her eyes, Nesta drains the last of her admittedly delicious coffee and places the mug in the empty sink, “I’ve no idea why you’d like to listen to _anything_ from those films, let alone for two weeks straight.”

“Well, since you’ve asked-”

“I didn’t.”

“My dissertation is specifically about page to screen adaptations and the process of using music to set the tone. I may be biased, but I believe the score can make or break a film.”

He turns, rooting around in his cabinets before turning back with a package of standard chocolate chip cookies, taking one for himself before offering one to his companion. Nesta reaches a slim hand forward and bites into the crumbly snack stepping closer, “I would argue nothing could save that trilogy.”

Cassian inches forward, “And _I_ would argue, that the music is what sets the scene and without it movies are bland and boring. My _personal_ opinions about Peter Jackson’s complete disregard for the story established in the books are beside the point.”

Somehow, they were now only a breath apart, Nesta able to smell the mix of chocolate and coffee on his breath as she answered with more bravado than she felt, “Well at least you’re not a _complete_ dunce.”

Leaning closer, his nose brushing hers, Cassian murmurs, “How much of a ‘dunce’ would I be if I…” he trails off, eyes darting down to her parted lips.

Nesta blinks slowly, running a steady finger over the hard line of his jaw, “No worse than someone who _blasts_ _music for two weeks straight and thinks I’ll go all googly eyed when he smirks and drop my panties.”_

With a short, effective shove, Nesta pushes his shockingly taught chest, and he immediately takes a step back, smirk undimmed. In fact, his hazel eyes spark at her barb, “I hardly think you’re the type to ‘drop your panties’ easily.”

Nodding once sharply, she snatches two more cookies and strides toward the door, shoulders thrown back, Cassian following at a polite distance, “I still don’t know your name. Mine is Cassian.”

Smirking, she turns, back pressed against the closed door as she gestures toward the labeled boxes, “I know.”

He follows her finger and smiles genuinely, “A regular Sherlock Holmes, eh?”

“I’m more of a Sam Spade girl myself.”

“Not surprised,” he laughs, propping one hand against the doorjamb casually, still leaving her plenty of room to leave when she likes.

Her eyes trail over the swirling tattoo chorded around his bicep until she returns his flirtatious gaze with an unreadable one of her own, “Eight o’clock.”

A thrill of triumph runs through her at his utterly confused expression. She repeats herself simply, “Eight o’clock,” before adding, “Tomorrow.”

“Is that when you’re going to snap my neck?” Cassian asks with a grin, fingers twitching against the dark molding.

“I never snap necks on a first date.”

Barking out a laugh, Cassian lets his free hand brush against one of hers casually, “A date, eh?”

She nods affirmatively, raising her chin haughtily, begging him to second-guess her non-request. Instead he lifts her hand to his mouth and presses his lips to her knuckles, maintaining heated eye contact, “Do I get your name?”

Fingers flexing against his, she leans close, lips brushing his ear, her smooth cheek pressed against his stubbled one, “Not until I get twenty four hours without being tortured by your hideous taste in films.”

“I told you I-”

Quickly, so swiftly that she barely gives herself a chance to think about it, Nesta rises on her toes, pressing a short but sultry kiss to his mouth, pulling away before he even responds, “I want _silence_. And I’ll see you tomorrow night. Be prepared to discuss Peter _Hack_ -son’s epic failures as a book adapter in minute detail.”

“Hot,” Cassian mocks, although his clenched jaw and tensed muscles belie his cavalier attitude.

“I know.”

With a flourish, Nesta slips out of the apartment and into her own and Cassian drops back against the closed door with a content smile, “Nerd shit my ass, _Rhysand_.”


End file.
